Lady of Providence

by St. Clair, Ellie

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. He was correct in everything he said. She had never felt for another man what she felt for him, and he was as cooly intelligent and as hotly passionate as she could ever ask for in a man. Yet, while he had asked her of her feelings toward him, he had said nothing about what was in his heart, what he actually felt for her. Did he love her? Could he love her?

  And with his words, he certainly couldn’t mean—but then a hard, determined look flashed in his eyes as his jaw tightened, and she realized that yes, he clearly did.

  He pushed back from the wall, took her hand in his, and sank down to his knee in front of her. Elizabeth wanted to pull him up, to put a finger to his lips, to tell him not to say the words, but she found she was stunned into shocked silence. She could only stand there mutely looking down at him, like a deer who had sighted a torch.

  “Be my wife, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice more demanding than pleading, for he was a man for whom nothing was ever denied. “Marry me, have my children, be my duchess.”

  Elizabeth remained frozen. Say something, a voice in the back of her mind urged. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed her eyes, gathered her thoughts, parted her lips and tried again, but still, no words came.

  “I believe the appropriate response is, ‘yes,’” Gabriel said, clearly not pleased at having remained bent upon the floor for so long.

  Elizabeth tugged at his hands, and a dark look crossed his face as he rose, though he kept a tight grip on her fingers.

  “I know that, Gabriel, and I want to say yes, truly I do,” she said, her heart at war with her mind.

  “But?” he asked, releasing her hands now, and she felt bereft without his touch upon her. “I simply do not understand what could be holding you back.”

  “The reasons I gave you to keep distance between one another—they still stand,” she said, hearing the desperation in her tone, and she vowed to keep such emotion from it for the remainder of the conversation. “If I marry you, I will give up everything that’s important to me—except you. Your life would be nearly unchanged. You could participate in the same activities, attend the same clubs, keep the same hours. All that would be different is that you would not only hold your own fortune but mine as well.”

  “I would never—”

  She lifted a hand, stilling his words. “I know that you are not asking to marry me for my income nor my partnership—and you should know that my grandfather ensured my inheritance would remain untouched. You are many things, but you are not a fortune hunter and while you enjoy your games, I know you are a man who would far rather earn his own riches than inherit them from his wife. But part of the law is that all that is due to come to me in the future would become yours—and I would no longer have a say over any of it.”

  He took a step away from her, a wall having come up between the two of them at her talk of finances and legalities.

  “Your grandfather provided you the partnership and all of his fortune not for your husband but for you, and I understand that,” he said. “I would allow you full control over all of your income.”

  “And that’s just it!” she exclaimed. “You would allow me. It is not something that I could choose any longer for myself.”

  “So you are telling me that you would rather spend your days alone, with only your independence to keep you company, than share a life with me?”

  “I implore you not to say it like that, for you well know that is not what I mean. But can you tell me that as a duchess, I would still live the life I am living now?”

  “You would have a few more social obligations, of course,” he responded. “But you will have your partnership well established, and the title of Duchess of Clarence would certainly do well to solidify partnerships and clients, would it not? I do not see it as anything but a boon for the business you currently conduct, and it would, perhaps, convince you to share some of your responsibilities with others.”

  “I do not wish to share the responsibility,” she said, her jaw set, and he wrenched his gaze away from her, walking over to the window and looking out beyond, his hands upon the windowsill and his shoulders hunched, likely in cold, reserved anger.

  “Why did you come to me last night?” he asked, his voice steel now, and Elizabeth’s stomach turned in turmoil.

  “I wanted to be with you,” she said softly.

  “But just for one night?”

  “I suppose… yes… no. I don’t know. I cannot deny what I feel for you, how I do want you. But…”

  But she was scared that one day he would turn from her, and she would be left with nothing. How could she make him understand what she feared?

  He turned around now, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the window. He was a man slow to anger, but once he did…

  “How is it,” he asked slowly, “That in everything else in your life, you are so decisive, so sure in your decisions, and yet with me you are entirely contrary?”

  “I ask myself that question constantly,” she said honestly.

  “The last time I asked you to marry me, you said yes rather quickly,” he observed.

  “Things were different then. We were different.”

  “So what is it, Elizabeth?” he asked, pushing away from the windowsill and walking toward her until he was a foot away, carrying himself with the imposing ducal power he knew how to wield. “Should I take this as a ‘no’?”

  Elizabeth refused to be cowed by him, to back down or allow him to make her feel anything less than what she was.

  “I would ask that you give me time to think on my answer,” she said. “Would you allow that, your grace?”

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but otherwise, he seemed unaffected.

  “Very well,” he said, then reached into his jacket and pulled a small box out of his pocket, which he slammed it down on a small end table beside him. “This was for you. It still is, I suppose, if you choose to accept it. It was my mother’s and is for the woman I will one day marry. Good day, Lady Elizabeth.”

  And with that he was out the door, pulling it shut firmly behind him before Elizabeth could even whisper, “Good day, Gabriel,” as her eyes began to fill with tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gabriel hadn’t meant to be so heavy-handed with Elizabeth, to show such anger nor try to intimidate her. He could hardly tell her, however, just how much her denial had hurt him, and instead he had lashed out at her.

  She had fortitude, though, not giving into his words nor showing any sort of emotion herself. But she frustrated him to no end. If she didn’t want him, why not just come out and say so? Why hide behind all of these excuses? For what else could he possibly give her, or could she want from him? He had told her she could keep her banking position, and even her bloody fortune, for goodness sake. Most men would not be nearly so generous. Most men likely wouldn’t be able to afford to be either, although that was beside the point.

  And what kind of woman would prefer to be alone than to marry—and a duke no less? He could knock on the door of any house within Mayfair—hell, within all of London—and ask for the hand of the eldest daughter and none would deny him. In fact, he was sure even a few married ladies of the house would gladly leave for him if they were able.

  Why, oh why, for all that was good, did he have to fall for Lady Elizabeth Moreland—not once, but twice? And why had he made such a disaster of things the first time so that now she would think of any and every excuse not to be with him? She was scared of being hurt again, he reasoned. That must be it—and so she had hurt him first.

  All of these thoughts circled around his head as he entered White’s Gentleman’s Club later that evening. He didn’t know why he was here, nor what he expected from the men within these doors, but it had to be better than sitting in his study ruminating on Elizabeth’s words as he looked to the door where she had entered only the night before to fulfill all of the fantasies that had been flowing through his mind.

  G
abriel was relieved to find that both Redmond and Berkley were in attendance this evening. Thank goodness, he thought, for he didn’t think he could stomach the company of any other men tonight. He was well aware of just what a foul mood he was in, and he hoped a drink and a win at cards could help raise his spirits.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, taking a seat between the two of them and they nodded, though he noted Berkley’s raised eyebrow and he realized how surly his greeting had been.

  “Troubles, Clarence?” Berkley asked nonchalantly, and Gabriel shrugged, not interested in telling them of Elizabeth’s near-denial, though he was aware that Berkley had found himself in such a situation not long ago. Berkley seemed to read his mind, however, as he laughed at Gabriel’s reluctance to answer the question. “Do you not recall telling me that you were interested in finding yourself a woman such as Phoebe, one who would keep you on your toes?” Berkley asked. “Just how is that going for you?”

  Gabriel couldn’t help but chuckle, aware that Berkley spoke the truth.

  “It certainly is a question to ponder, whether one should prefer to be kept interested or at ease,” he said with a sigh, and Redmond looked between the two of them before shaking his head.

  “Or you could just stay single and enjoy all that the world has to offer you,” he said with a grin. “That would be my preference.”

  “A fact of which we are all well aware, Redmond,” Gabriel said dryly, though his remark did not seem to bother his friend, who rather embraced his role as an affable rake.

  Gabriel would have preferred to enjoy an evening with just the three of them, but it seemed that tonight White’s was a particularly popular choice, for soon the room was crowded with men milling about, and the chairs throughout the room were filling so that other men were close enough to converse with the three of them.

  “Clarence,” came a voice from Gabriel’s right. “How are you this evening?”

  “Fine, thank you, Sir Hugo, and you?”

  “Very good, very good,” the man said, his round cheeks flushed, a cigar firmly clamped between this teeth. “Though I was hoping to find you here this evening. You are a partner at Clarke & Co., are you not?”

  “I am,” Gabriel said, suddenly wary. “Though typically I find myself to be more of a silent partner.”

  “Yes, well,” Sir Hugo continued, leaning in closer, though he didn’t lower his voice. “Clarke—Henry Clarke, that is—tells me that you are working from the inside, which I admire. It is not the rightful place for a woman to be at the head of the bank, I’ll tell you that—not at all. Good on you to work with Clarke in order to determine how best to remove ol’ Thomas’ granddaughter from her position. I respected the man, I did, but it seems his heart was a little too soft when it came to the woman.”

  Gabriel’s heart began beating in panic, though he kept his composure. He had nearly dismissed the lies he had told Clarke, but he hadn’t expected the man to share with others to what he had agreed. If Elizabeth happened to hear of this, well… the consequences could be dire.

  “I would not say that is entirely the way of it, Sir Hugo,” he said carefully, and the man looked at him conspiratorially.

  “Well, it is not as though she is the type of woman you would otherwise court!” he said with a laugh, and his companion, Lord Baxtall, joined in.

  “I’m not entirely sure what you mean,” Gabriel said, his countenance frosty, and Sir Hugo began to look slightly concerned as he realized that Gabriel might not be entirely pleased with what he had thought was an entertaining joke.

  “Only that a potential duchess is certainly not a woman like Lady Elizabeth Moreland, who is more concerned with business than anything else—especially one who may see herself as above you!” Sir Hugo exclaimed. “Why, if a woman thinks she can tell others what to do within a business, I can only imagine what she might think within the home!” He laughed at his own joke, a long, loud chuckle, and Gabriel’s expression didn’t change.

  “She doesn’t know her place,” Baxtell said with a wave of his hands, his mustache bobbing with his head as he agreed with his own sentiments. “A woman should be in the home, providing for her husband. If she does not yet have a husband, then she should be preparing for one. Women in places of business are nothing but trouble—for everyone involved.”

  “Lady Elizabeth is certainly not the first woman to find herself a partner within a bank, and I have heard hardly a word of ill regarding the prospects of other such banks,” Gabriel responded, his words clipped, “Why do you believe in the toxicity of women in such a position?”

  “Women are a distraction,” Baxtell continued, his voice annoyingly pompous, as though he were providing a lecture to the rest of them. “How is a man supposed to concentrate on matters of the day when he has a beautiful woman sitting in front of him? And how is a woman—particularly an unmarried one—supposed to even attempt to look into matters of business when she is surrounded by potential husbands? If she is married, how can she focus on the important work she must do if she is also concerned with matters regarding the household? It is not natural, Clarence, and I, for one, am glad you are doing something about it.”

  Gabriel said nothing as he sat and stewed on their words. They were unfair to Elizabeth, that he knew—she was one of the most intelligent people he had ever met, far more so than these fools at the table next to him. Though he hated to admit it, he could see their point regarding her role as a duchess. The fact was that there was much to attend to, with various social events as well as philanthropic efforts and households to manage. Not that he couldn’t hire someone to see to such activities, but to have a completely absent wife would be difficult. Particularly if he had to attend to matters in the country—could Elizabeth leave London for a spell? Not likely.

  Besides all of that, the woman didn’t seem to want him anyway.

  “Tell me you are not actually listening to all of that horseshit,” Berkley murmured from across the table, taking a sip of his drink. “I can tell you, man, I thought that way for far too long and it got me into nothing but a heap of trouble. Allow your woman to be happy and you will be too, I can promise you that.”

  He tipped his drink toward Gabriel, who gladly accepted his own once it arrived. That was one thing about White’s—it was predictable.

  Unlike Elizabeth.

  “Let me ask you something, Berkley,” he said now, moving the glass back and forth in front of him. “Is your wife always questioning you? Does she try to undermine you? It is one thing for a woman to have her own passions in life, but at the same time, a man must still have the power within his own home. What does that say about a man—a duke—if he cannot even control his wife?”

  “It’s not about control,” Berkley reasoned. “That only spells more trouble. I do hope you are not actually working to remove her from the bank.”

  “Not at all. I was actually trying to protect her from Clarke, though I’m not sure she would see it that way. You do not listen to your wife in all matters, do you?” Gabriel asked, slightly incredulous, and Berkley only smiled.

  “You have a lot to learn, son,” he said jokingly, and Gabriel rolled his eyes at his friend.

  “Or,” Redmond chimed in, “Perhaps you need to determine if you’re asking the right questions. You are all talk of business and control. There are many marriages, however, that are convenient for many purposes but do not mean joining your entire lives together. For instance, would your woman mind you taking on a mistress or two, to keep things interesting?”

  Gabriel turned his stare toward him. “She absolutely would mind. And I would never do such a thing—not again.”

  Redmond held his hands up in the air. “Just a question! No need to be angry with me. Then, Clarence, what I would ask you is whether you really want one woman—one woman only!—for the rest of your life? I tell you, I can hardly imagine it. There are so many options out there awaiting you, the thought of giving all that up… I couldn’t do it. Not a chance.”

&n
bsp; Gabriel smiled now, a slow, knowing smile.

  “If it’s the right woman,” he said, thinking of Elizabeth—in his bed, in the boardroom, in his life—then absolutely.

  But he would not grovel. He was a duke, and if he allowed her to make him beg before a true relationship even began, then he was only setting himself up for a life in which he would be brought lower than he was.

  Gabriel wanted her, that much was true. But he had far too much pride to allow her to bring him to his knees once more. He had bent for her once already—in order to ask the question—but now it was up to her. He wouldn’t be made a fool, not again.

  *

  Gabriel didn’t stay long at White’s—only long enough to finish his drink and brood in the company of friends, before Berkley finally told him to go home and think on things with only his own miserable company. Gabriel readily agreed, but as he walked out the imposing dark doors, he jumped at a presence suddenly appearing at his right.

  And like the rat he was, Henry Clarke snuck out of the shadows to latch onto Gabriel’s side.

  “What do you want, Clarke?” Gabriel practically snarled as he continued walking toward where his carriage awaited.

  “I needed to talk to you—alone. I went to your house, but was told you were not in residence.”

  “No,” Gabriel said. “I was not.”